


The Course of the Tides

by AstronautSquid



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Dissociative Identity Disorder (minor character), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, M/M, Physical Abuse, Post-Season/Series 02 AU, bedlam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:42:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28554834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautSquid/pseuds/AstronautSquid
Summary: When Eleanor is taken to England in chains, Max and Captain Flint devise a plan to rescue her, without knowing that in London not only Eleanor, but also James’ lost past awaits him…
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Eleanor Guthrie/Max
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Der Gang der Gezeiten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564208) by [Nachtauge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachtauge/pseuds/Nachtauge), [Nachtwoelfin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nachtwoelfin/pseuds/Nachtwoelfin). 



> I enjoy Nachtwoelfin's writing for Black Sails so much and have always regretted that I can't show it to my anglophone friends. I hope you will enjoy it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  


Eleanor Guthrie had always tried not to forget the impermanence of things. She had known that riches could be impermanent, and she had invested in goods, buildings and people, had had strong chests made with heavy locks, and gone about her business with caution and prudence to ward it off. Love was impermanent, thus she could rely on no one but herself. She was reminded even of the impermanence of life again and again, first by her mother’s death and last by her father’s. She had known of many impermanences but she had never considered that something eternal like the sun could be impermanent. Two weeks in her cell in the Scarborough’s lowest deck had disabused her of this notion and also taught her that she might be equal to hunger and thirst, to Captain Hume’s ridicule and the fear of the gallows, but not the complete absence of even a single sunbeam.

First she lost all sense of time, then her appetite and finally even the need to hide all signs of weakness from the world. Where before she had been proud and belligerent, careful to preserve her strength and to let everyone know that she would never capitulate, after two weeks she merely dozed in a state between sleep and wakefulness. Every bite of food became an effort that seemed worth less with each passing day, and her body rebelled against the brackish water and the mouldy bread, while she tried to remember what the world outside looked like, how the salty sea air smelled or how sunlight felt on her skin.

Upon reaching England she was brought to London in an enclosed carriage, but she could barely muster any interest until she was ungently dragged from the carriage at their destination. When her eyes were exposed to the sun again after a month, the pain was so sharp, so piercing, but at the same time so sweet, so unbelievably sweet, that tears sprang to her eyes. Without a fight she let her guards pull her along, while she basked in the incredible sensation of bright, warm sunlight on her face. What a blessing, what delight was every step she took in the fresh air, and she could practically feel the life returning to her--until she vaguely perceived the door before her, the darkness that awaited her, and this time she did scream. She dug her heels into the ground, lashed out, kicked, scratched, bit anything she could reach, fought more desperately than she had ever fought in her life, and still refused to yield when the door of her new, dark cell clicked shut. She raged until her strength ran out, cursed until she was hoarse, because Eleanor Guthrie never gave up and even this godforsaken kindgom would learn in time!

°

Three days later Eleanor discovered that England had taken more from her than just the sun. She had known that she was powerless in the present, but she had drawn strength from her past power and from the knowledge that England would fear it. The queen of thieves, the unreserved ruler of Nassau, that was her, and even though it would mean her death, the echoes of this power had given meaning to her present. 

But Engand took her past so casually that she didn’t even notice at first. After three days a man entered her cell and explained slowly and clearly that she had obviously fallen prey to the insane notion that a woman could have the mind and the strength to fill a man’s role. He explained that of course the very idea was ridiculous, her efforts to flee the role society imposed on her nothing but a mental aberration that was to be treated. Of course she had not been the queen of thieves, of course she hadn’t run her father’s trading empire, but they would spare no effort to cure her of these hallucinations.

They taught Eleanor in simple words that England had declared her insane and that she was not at all in a prison where her past would be judged. No, the truth was that she had no past, and here, in Bethlem Royal Hospital, everything would be done to impress this upon her.


	2. Demons

James killed. The planks beneath his feet were slippery with blood but he hastened across, his sword in one hand, the by now useless pistol in the other. His opponent fell to his blows before he could even raise his blade, and sooner than his lifeless body had sunk to the ground, James had already found his next target. The man was young, barely twenty, and when he saw James heading towards him, dressed head to toe in black, his wan face paled further. With a clatter his pistol fell to the deck and he raised his hands.

“Mercy,” he begged, “please, I—”

James’ sword slashed his throat open and crimson blood gushed across his white shirt. He fell to the ground, panic still in his eyes, and James shook his head.

“No mercy,” he said coldly.

No one had granted her mercy. No one had given her even the opportunity to beg for it. They had killed her, cruelly and without pity, and he would take his revenge just so. No mercy. Never.

They had sighted the Royal Navy supply ship around midday and challenged it some hours later. That it put up stubborn resistance was fine by James. Seven members of his crew had fallen prey to the ship’s cannon before they could enter it, and his men were as vengeful as himself when they stormed the other deck. His crew knew that an English ship under the Union Jack should hold no hope for mercy. However, James was aware that he kept skirting closer and closer to a mutiny every time he left the enemy crew in a rudder- and sailless longboat, even though most of them begged so tearfully to join his ship that even the most hardened members of his crew grew uneasy. It was much easier this way and he relished the bloodlust when he fought mercilessly down to the last man. As long as he held a sword in his hand and set to his opponent with hard blows he didn’t think of Miranda in her own blood, of the last time he had held her and and how he had never told her how much he had loved her.

His sword rammed into the other man’s chest and he collapsed, while James looked down at him, panting.

_ For you, Miranda. For the things things they’ve done to us. What they’ve taken from us. _

“Captain?”

He turned to find himself facing Billy. He was splattered with blood too, but there was unmistakeable dread in his eyes.

“Is everyone dead?” he asked curtly.

“The shiff is ours, Captain."

“Good. Bring the cargo aboard the  _ Walrus, _ then we abandon the ship. Let the Navy find it and discover what happens when you cross Captain Flint and Nassau.”

“Aye, Captain.”

James nodded, sheathed his sword and turned from the enemy ship. The demons already awaited him upon his return to the  _ Walrus. _

°

They shore Eleanor’s head, peeled her out of her soiled clothes and gave her a grey, washed-out smock instead; and because she resisted tooth and nail, they finally chained her to the wall of her cell and added laudanum to her water to pacify her. When she refused to drink it they forced it down her throat and left her on the stone bench which was the only thing in her cell aside from a bucket. Only a scattering of damp straw and a tattered blanket helped her ward off the cold as best she could; and so she lay shivering and numbed on her cot and watched, in her brief waking periods, how the sunbeams from the corridor outside painted the barred opening’s shadow onto her cell floor. Sometimes faces appeared outside the door, detached, interested, mocking or amused grimaces that she dismissed as hallucinations from the laudanum and didn’t pay further attention to.

In her dreams she saw Nassau before her but it lay in the far, unreachable distance and the people on the beach waved and jeered at her, Charles and Max, Hornigold, Frasier, Naft and Lawrence, Jack Rackham, Anne Bonny, Lilywhite and all the others that were glad to be rid of her. Sometimes she stood in the fort’s courtyard and watched how either Charles or Ned Lowe brutalised her father’s body, or she saw her mother prone in a pool of blood while the Spanish laid waste to Nassau. Initially she was grateful for the dreamless sleep of a higher dose of laudanum, but soon she began to miss even these terrible dreams, for they were proof that her past was real and not a mere figment of her imagination.

After two weeks the dreams slowly grew more frequent again and that’s how she noticed that they were reducing the laudanum. Soon she regained the strength to rise and move through the cell, within the restricted radius of her chains. She paced back and forth while trying to remember detail from her ledgers, which captain had earned how much in the past years, which harbours had paid her which prices for sugar and tobacco and who her contact people were. She told herself that all this information might be useful to prove her sanity, but mostly she looked desperately for an activity to avoid being driven out of her mind by boredom and loneliness. Her human contacts were limited to a guard who pushed a tin bowl with food under her door twice a day, and the visitors.

She startled the first time she realised that the faces outside her door were not part of her imagination, but real humans that stared at her like an animal. All of a sudden she realised her shameful appearance, her ragged smock and her shorn head. Her attempts at wrapping herself in her blanket were met with laughter, and her face burned in mortification. She curled up on her cot, back to the door, and tried frantically to ignore the talk of the mad pirate wench of Nassau.

_ I’m not mad, _ she wanted to scream,  _ I’m not mad, _ but she knew that it would only draw more attention to her and so in order to hold back the tears she merely dug her nails into her palms until they left small, bleeding wounds. She was Eleanor Guthrie and she would not cry. She would not give them that satisfaction.

And then there were the screams. The screams were the worst. Brief screams, prolonged screams, shrill, roaring or whimpering, they were varied but they all shared one thing—they were terrifying. She always heard them, even when she clapped her hands over her ears or sought refuge in her sleep.

There was no way, she soon learned, to escape the screams in Bedlam.

  
  


°

  
  


The house was silent. It pretended to be asleep, but James knew better. All life beyond the windows had been extinguished and all that still wandered the rooms were ghosts, afterimages of the two lives he had destroyed.

He sat on the edge of the well while dusk spread across the fields. In his hand he held a key, but even though the lock it belonged to was mere steps away he knew that he wasn’t going to unlock it today. Inside they both waited, amongst clothes and furniture, on bookpages and inside the frame of a small painting, and he didn’t feel strong enough to face them, feared what he might do if he passed through that door. And perhaps the door wouldn’t open to him at all anymore, perhaps the key wouldn’t fit or the entry be barred as if by magic because the blood on his hands and the evil in his soul destroyed any claim he had ever had to the protection and warmth inside these walls.

So deep in thought was he that James only heard the hoofbeats when they reached the yard. He turned slowly and apathetically watched the figure in black that as it dismounted.

“Pastor Lambrick,” he said. He wasn’t surprised.

“Captain Flint,” the pastor greeted him coolly. He remained at a distance and at any other time James would have been gratified with his tense posture, the hint of fear in the man’s eyes; but in this moment none of it mattered.

He considered Lambrick. He had never particularly liked the man and that his weekly visits to Miranda’s home had been less for spiritual, than for very wordly interests, was only one of the reasons. He had not seen the inside of a church since Thomas had been taken from him, too hateful was the idea of a supposedly benevolent God that would do such a thing to a man like Thomas, as full of goodness and love as no other man James had ever met. Unlike Thomas, Pastor Thomas felt no mercy towards the pirates, viewed their deeds with disgust and spoke more of hell than forgiveness. It was a mystery to James what Miranda had seen in this man, but she had curtly told him that it was none of his business with whom she spent her time while he was at sea; and the hope that Lambrick might have lessened Miranda’s loneliness in one way or another made James look at the man in a less harsh light than before.

“What can I do for you, Pastor?” he asked when Lambrick made no effort to initiate a conversation.

Lambrick nervously cleared his throat. “I was just… I only wanted to see if everything was alright.” He fiddled with his neckcloth while making every effort to sound casual. “I hear you’re still employing the workers?”

James didn’t bother confirming the reports of Lambrick’s spies.

“I simply wanted… well… if you have no more use for the house…”

“No,” James said simply.

“I understand,” Lambrick hastened to say. “I only wanted to offer my assistance.”

James nodded and let his gaze sweep across the yard. The house was Miranda’s and even were he never to enter it again, he’d be damned if he ever left it to anyone else.

“Alright, I’ll head back then.” Lambrick turned to leave.

“The animals,” said James, “surely there are people in your flock that have need of them, Pastor?”

Lambrick turned back to him in surprise. “Well… Certainly,” he said hesitantly.

“Then take them. The cow, the goats, the chickens… Take them and distribute them to the needy.”

“That is… exceedingly generous.” Lambrick looked at him in bafflement and slight suspicion.

James smiled mirthlessly. “This is no trap, Pastor, don’t worry. And the animal aren’t cursed, either.”

He rose and fetched Miranda’s gelding from his stall in the stable. Having tied him to his saddle, James nodded at Lambrick. “The other animals are yours.”

“Thank you, Captain Flint,” Lambrick said stiffly. “People will be grateful to you.”

“Don’t give the animals away in my name, but in Mrs Barlow’s.”

“Of course, if that is your wish.”

James busied himself with his horse’s saddle while Lambrick watched indecisively.

“I wanted to tell you… Well, that I’m sorry. About Mrs Barlow.” Lambrick swallowed. “She was a good woman.”

James paused and stared, unseeing. “She was,” he said finally, heavily, and mounted his horse. “If you want to do something, then pray for her, Pastor. God no longer listens to my prayers, I’m afraid.”

WIthout another glance he picked up the reins and and left towards Nassau.

°   
  


When she laid down on the floor with her face right where the sunlight fell through the door’s grated opening, she could almost imagine, with her eyes closed, that she was in Nassau. 

The screams were the shouts of men in her tavern and in the street, while she sat looking at the bay from her window, at the sparkling water, the anchored ships that rolled lazily in the waves; at the bustle on the beach where whores strolled amongst the tents looking for customers while the men brought their prizes ashore and wagons of wares rolled up the street or were driven down to the boats. 

If she concentrated she could smell it, even, this blend of sea and hot sand, rum, tobacco, spices and human perspiration, all dominated by the sweet scent of hibiscus and oleander. And when the sun disappeared and she immediately found herself back in her cold cell, the homesickness weighed so heavily on her chest that she could hardly breathe.

°

Max set aside the letter she had read dozens of times within the last hour and rose from her chair when Jack and Anne entered her office, that same room where Eleanor had ruled Nassau.

“Would you like a drink?”

“First I want to know why we’re here,” said Jack and looked around warily.

Max smiled appeasingly. “In a moment,” she promised, crossed to the small table and poured the rum.

Jack harrumphed but accepted the cup. Anne sipped hers without taking her eyes off Max. She had not sought out her bed since returning with Jack and the gold. Sometimes she had come to the brothel, had a meal and watched her, and sometimes Max had sat with her for a talk, but she had accepted that Anne had decided in Jack’s favour, even if the desire in Anne’s eyes had not diminished. This decision scarcely changed anything about their partneship and Max’s role in it, too great was her influence over the town these days.

“Who are we waiting for?” Jack asked impatiently, but a knock at the door spared Max the need to answer.

She nodded approvingly. “There,” she said and raised her voice, “Come in!”

Flint entered, followed by his quartermaster and Billy Bones. His gaze darkened when it fell upon Jack and Anne. They might have made peace to protect Nassau, but Flint had neither given up on the gold nor had he forgiven Jack its theft.

“Thank you for coming, Captain,” Max said quickly, with a friendly smile. “May I offer you a drink?”

Flint look away from Jack and shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Then perhaps your men?” She turned a questioning look on Silver and Bones, but they too declined. Silver’s face was as devoid of expression as her own. To this day Flint knew nothing of the role his quartermaster had played in the theft, and she wanted it to remain that way.

Flint’s expectant eyes on her were cool. “What is your business? Your messenger called it urgent.”

Max ran a finger along the brim of her cup and looked at the chair which Eleanor had spent so many hours occupying. She could still see it clearly, the animated gleam of her eyes, the combative jut of her chin… Whenever Max was in this room she sensed her presence, silent and accusing.

“I have news from my spies,” she said. “Hume has indeed taken Eleanor to England, to London, to be exact.”

Flint’s gaze darkened, but he merely gave a curt nod. None of them had expected otherwise.

“The reason that I asked you here…” Max set her cup down and looked imperiously to Flint, “I want you to sail to England and free Eleanor, Captain.”

Her words were followed by stunned silence. Even Jack was lost for words.

Flint seemed thunderstruck as he stared at her. “Pardon?” he said finally, disbelieving.

Max sighed. “I want you to sail to England and free Eleanor,” she repeated.

Flint absently crossed his arms and nodded gruffly towards Jack. “You’ve arranged for your own  _ Captain, _ ma’am. Why not send him?” His sneering at the title made Jack give an angry start, but a sharp look from Max reined him him. “Do you have more urgent need of Captain Rackham while you intend to sell me cheaply to the English?”

“Your crew is larger, Captain,” Max replied calmly. “You have the better ship and greater experience.” Jack grumbled but she elected to ignore his dented pride for now. “You know London, unlike Captain Rackham. And you care for Eleanor.”

Flint’s face remained hard but the way he blinked quickly proved her right. Her perceptiveness rarely failed her and she knew that Flint held far more sympathy for Eleanor than Jack and Anne, and that it would make him a far more reliable accomplice in this matter.

“Be that as it may,” he said gruffly, “I have to convince my crew of this extremely dangerous endeavour, and I don’t see what would move them to sail to the other end of the world and get themselves hanged in an attempt to rescue a woman of little importance to them. Unless you and your subordinates were to hand over the gold that is rightfully ours. We could negotiate Eleanor’s rescue then, in return.”

“Never, Captain,” Jack hissed and advanced aggressively. “You had your chance and forfeited it. The gold is ours now.”

Flint spared him no glance. “I’m not talking to you, Rackham,” he said evenly and did not take his eyes off Max.

_ “Captain _ Rackham! And—”

“Jack!” Max cut him off, then looked back to Flint. “You will have my share.”

Flint raised his brows, but he shook his head. “That won’t do,” he said. “The journey alone will take two months, without even taking into account the danger of crossing the Atlantic and strolling right into the lion’s den.”

Max lowered her eyes to study the grain of the tabletop, though it was a strategic display rather than serious consideration. She knew what she was willing to pay for Eleanor’s return, but if Flint knew it as well he would hold the reins in the negotiations.

“Two shares,” she said finally and looked up. “Two hundred thousand Spanish dollars.”

Jack and Anne exchanged looks. “And where are you going to find those, Max? If I may ask?” Jack’s voice had a dangerous undertone. “Neither Anne nor I are willing—”

“Where do you think your men will take their money?” Max asked pointedly. “I assure you, I have no need of either your or Anne’s share to pay my debts to Captain Flint.”

Flint ran a thoughtful hand over his beard and exchanged glances with Silver and Bones. “A quarter million,” he said. “Two hundred and fifty thousand Spanish dollars. And we don’t withdraw our claims to the gold with this trade.”

Max stepped forward and extended her hand. “Agreed, Captain.”

Flint studied her suspiciously before finally shaking her hand. “Then in Devil’s name tell me already what your spies have discovered.”

“Of course the information is a month old by now, but they haven’t put Eleanor in prison. She was taken to Bethlem Royal Hospital.”

This name had meant nothing to Max upon reading it in her spy’s letter, but its effect upon Flint was devastating. All blood left his face and he pulled his hand from hers so brutally that she startled back.

“To Bethlem Royal Hospital?” It appeared to cost him tremendous effort to speak the name.

Max looked at him in shock. A wild, hunted expression had come into his eyes and he was white as a sheet. Max had never seen the Caribbean’s most feared pirate captain beside himself like this.

“What kind of place is it, Captain?” She asked fearfully. “What do you know?” Her relief that she had felt upon reading the letter gave way to a leaden fear.

“Our agreement is null and void,” he said hoarsely, and without another word he rushed from the room.

Max stared after him but it was Jack who broke the silence.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, stunned, but not even Flint’s own crewmates had an answer.

°°°

**Author's Note:**

> A comment would be much appreciated! My primary reason for doing this translation is that this story receives so little attention because of the language barrier, so I'd love for the author to see some appreciation <3
> 
> All errors are, of course, my own. All long-winded sentences are to blame on the German language :') My gratitude to the rad costcopizza for the support.


End file.
